Discovery
by Spinereader
Summary: The child, the father, and the tragedy. A portrait of a death scene. Asuka centric, pre series.


Title: Discovery Author: Aubrey Rating: PG Summary: The child, the father, and the tragedy; a portrait of a death scene. Asuka centric, pre series.  
Author's Note: Since I can't for the life of me remember in what episode Asuka happened upon her mother, her quote comes from memory. I do however remember that Kyoko (her mother) was involved with Eva; as a pilot, I inferred. If this is incorrect please set me straight.  
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Her tiny hands knead her hem impatiently as she stares out the car window every few minutes. Like a compressed coil, she is ready to spring, to burst with excitement.

Her father regards his daughter fondly. There is the slightest hint of apprehension in his eyes as he wordlessly ponders the intelligence of his decision. He tried to discourage her, warn her that her mother would likely remain locked within herself, but his daughter refused to believe it.

"She was a pilot too, Daddy, she'll have to react," she insisted. "We have to tell her now!"

Thus here he is, driving clear across town to the hospital. The evening sun threatens to blind him.

At long last the man finds a parking space. The child bounds out of the car, running over to his door as he steps out. She takes his hand, pulling at it.

"Daddy, stop being so slow!"

With the child leading the way to the building, the father follows. He speaks to the front desk clerk, evoking a chuckle from the woman.

"My goodness child, you must have important news if you're this excited," she quips, regarding the child fondly.

The young girl beams. "I most certainly do! She won't care a bit about that stupid ole doll anymore."

"Well you two go right up," suggests the clerk. "The nurse who saw her earlier said she was in good spirits today, murmuring about how things would soon be better and eating every bite of her meals."

She winks at the child. "It's as if she knew you were coming with good news."

The girl laughs, running to the elevators. Her father chides her for it, but she doesn't notice.

As the elevator opens she resumes running, knowing exactly which door is her mother's. Before she even enters she cries out the news.

"Mama, Mama, you won't believe it! They picked me to be an Eva pilot! Isn't that wonderful?"

She flings open the door.

The scene comes to her in fragments, odd pieces that make no sense to her; body floating, doll floating, head lulled, rope across neck. The pieces fall together as she takes in the face; grey flesh, dark lips, vacant, bloodshot eyes.

The girl stares, her joy melting like ice on hot pavement as she grows numb.

She screams. The sound is deafening, horrifying. It is the bloodcurdling scream of agony and terror, as primal as the death scream of a rabbit.

The father comes running, nearly tripping in his rush to find her. The sight of his wife hits him like an invisible barrier and for a split second he cannot move until his daughter screams again.

He falls to his knees and takes her in his arms, burying her face in his chest so she cannot see. Slowly, the screams descend into wracking sobs as she clings desperately to him.

The sobs continue until she grows ill, vomiting upon her father's shoulder. He doesn't care, barely notices.

Around the pair, the scene changes. The iron stomached of the staff members tenderly cut the woman down and drape her upon the bed. A doctor follows procedure by checking her pulse before placing her on a gurney and carrying her away.

As the daughter grows weary, the father carries her to a flimsy metal chair in the waiting room and seats her.

The man collapses in a chair beside the girl, burying his face in his hands. It's all so surreal, he thinks, too macabre to be more than a nightmare. He'll open his eyes and find the girl curled in his wife's lap as she strokes the girl's hair.

The scene changes as his wife curls her arm around his waist, her dark, thick locks tickling his neck. She points at their daughter who she sits on a horse, eagerly waving at them from the Merry-Go-Round. He looks closer at the horse and starts. Its eye is bloodshot.

He gasps, coming to with a start. The lights on the ceiling burn brighter now as the sky darkens, causing him to squint. The child remains curled in her chair, sleeping sounding. The man stretches, rubs his eyes and goes to the girl. He cradles her in his arms and goes to the elevator.

When he makes it to the door, he tells the night clerk to save all calls until late the following day.

Tonight they hide from the truth. Tomorrow comes the seeking. 


End file.
